Fortuitous Blunders
by XavierForest
Summary: Two-shot. Allen loses his thong (the underwear kind), and Kanda is the perfect stranger who finds it. Yullen. allenXkanda. Some romance. A bit of humour. Hints of depression. Scene One - Allen's perspective on their meeting. Scene Two - Kanda's perspective and views on Allen before their meeting.
1. Chapter 1

**Fortuitous Blunders**

Allen Walker

I owned a lace thong.

It was something I wore when felt daring, or when I thought I'd get laid. Two days ago, it was the latter.

The key word there was _thought_.

It didn't happen. The guy took one look at my arm and ran with his tail between his legs like the coward he was.

I should've known.

My face was enough to keep most people away, and for those who were feeling adventurous, all I had to do was remove my shirt before they hit the road.

I really didn't know why I was even trying anymore. It was useless to hope.

Going back to current problem though: I'd lost my thong in the Laundromat.

Or maybe I'd dropped it somewhere along the way. That was also a likely scenario. I'd have to retrace my steps and hope to God that no one found the thing before I could throw it in the nearest trashcan and ready myself for life as a virgin.

Lifting my basket of clothes, I tipped everything out onto the counter below, and began moving clothes out of the way to check if it really was here and it hadn't just been hidden by some other article of clothing. Holding up a shirt, I glared venomously at my bare hands -because who wore gloves while doing the laundry? Wet gloves were uncomfortable and this was my apartment complex, so I didn't give a damn about who saw my arm-. This was all that stupid black arm's fault. If it didn't exist, I'd probably be rolling around in the sheets attatched at the hip -or somewhere else- with a boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever else.

I furiously threw the shirt back into the basket, blinking back hot tears and hating myself for how easily I cried.

As if this situation wasn't embarrassing enough.

"Is this yours?"

My gaze connected with a dark blue one that watched at me with a mix of dark satisfaction and interest, and I felt myself shiver.

I'd seen this guy around before. He had a nice face, along with a body to die for. His hair was long and held up in a high ponytail, tied with a red rope. His black turtleneck was skin-tight, hugging a firm stomach and strong arms. His tight navy-blue pants did the same to his legs.

 _Yum…_

All in all, he was perfect.

And he was holding my thong.

"No," I squeaked, inwardly cursing at myself. _Smooth, Allen. Real freakin' smooth._

He smirked, then pinched both sides and pulled, fully displaying the item for me to see, and my eyes automatically traced over the all-too-familiar black lace front and the string that made up the back. "It's _not_?"

It was mine, and he knew it. He'd been in the room when I'd removed my wet clothes from the washing machine his own basket now sat beside, so there was no way he wouldn't know.

"It isn't," I told him, my defensive tone firmer this time. I wasn't ready to give in just yet and let myself be humiliated like this, especially not by someone this good looking.

We remained locked in a peculiar silence, one in which left me sweating the longer he stared.

 _He really is hot…_

I realised belatedly that I hadn't hid my deformity. Biting back my panic, I tucked my left hand behind my back.

Then, and only then, did I scowl as I came to the bitter realisation that after all that had happened, I was still trying. Still trying uselessly to hide my ugliness. Still blindly struggling - _hoping_ \- for someone I could one day call _mine_.

It was revolting. I was tripping over myself at the first bit of eye-candy that gave me the time of day.

Watching him still, I didn't fail to notice him drifting closer, but I kept my mouth shut, even when he moved his cocky self to stand right in front of me. He was in my personal space, way closer to me than what I was used to.

"Too bad it's not. You'd look good in it."

My face grew hotter, my cheeks burning a bright red. "W-what… did you just…?"

He leant in, hands finding their place at the edge of the counter on either side of my hips, preventing my escape. He was proving to me that he was the one with the upper ground in this conversation. He was the one in control. "I think you heard me, Moyashi," he purred, eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm… My name is… erm… Allen." I wetted my lips, my body trembling. "It's not… ah… I'm not a… beansprout."

The satisfaction receded, approval taking its place. "Hn. Yu Kanda." His tone made it sound like he was pleased with something. "And do you have a last name?"

"O-oh! Walker! My name is A-Allen Walker," I stuttered out, trying desperately to hide my eagerness. I didn't want him to know how much I wanted him to keep going. I didn't want him to know how much I craved the attention he was giving me.

"I'm Four-H. You?"

 _Four…H?_

The number and letter swirled around in my head as I tried to make sense of them -because I _knew_ they had to mean _something_ -, but I didn't understand. Not surprising, considering that my circuits was practically fried right now. This stranger had turned my poor brain into goo.

Thinking on it a little longer, my heart clenched painfully within my chest, and in that split second, it clicked.

 _Room number! Wait… What's my room number?_

"Uh…" Awkwardly, I slipped a hand into my back jeans pocket and tugged out the card to my apartment, eyes hastily scanning over the information printed on that little plastic rectangle. "Four-B…"

He cocked his head teasingly to the side, lips stretching themselves into a grin that _should_ have scared me, but only left me wanting this even more. "So you _are_ on my floor."

I gulped, squeezing the flimsy card in my hand to bring myself back down to reality because there was _no way_ this was really happening.

I saw that gross mass of veiny red squeeze the card.

I'd used my left hand.

Mind numb and blank, I dropped the card, and heard it clatter to the ground as plastic met tile.

Kanda frowned, the intimate mood he'd generated draining fast.

I'd ruined it.

I'd ruined _everything_ , _again_.

Brain suddenly working in overdrive, I shoved my hand back behind myself, looking away from him in shame.

The face I showed then was one that expressed my guilt and pain, along with the regret I felt at having ruined my latest chance so early on, before it had really began

Then again, maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was better for me to kill my emotions before they had the time to take root and sprout into something that would only leave me suffering.

In the end, it would hurt less this way.

There was another silence, but he broke it -and surprised me- by crouching and retrieving my card. Standing back up, he gave the card a quick onceover, and then held it out to me. "Here."

Startled, I flinched, unable to comprehend his actions.

Where was the disgust? Where was the anger? Where was the panic? Where was the swearing? Where was the yelling? Where was the blow that would leave a mark in a place so obvious I'd have to cover it with concealer? Where were the rude gestures? Where were the hands that would shove me away the moment I tried to explain myself?

Why was he once more looking at me with the same flirty stare as before?

In realising that I wasn't going to make the first move, he did instead, inserting the card into the front pocket of my jeans.

My shock only increased.

He was _willingly_ touching me, even after he'd _seen_.

Tentatively, I brought my hand back out, clenching it and holding it to my chest. I looked up at him questioningly, fearful and curious and confused, wanting to know if he really didn't mind, or if he hadn't actually seen, or if he was messing with me, or if he wa-

"Relax," he whispered, the word travelling up and down my spine, echoing around in my head pleasantly, shushing the intrusive thoughts. "You look fine."

I felt blood rush to a place I begged it not to go, but it didn't stop. It continued on its path, leaving me as rigid as what lay in my pants.

He was close. Like, really, physically close. Unnaturally close, even. As in, his-nose-was-touching-mine kind of close.

I felt like pinching myself. Here this sexy _god_ , having seen my arm,was hitting on me, and I was acting like the little virgin I was under his eyes, which looked like they were undressing me.

That train of thought didn't help my little problem in the least.

I felt each of his individual exhales and inhales on my lips as he breathed. His breaths were slow, as opposed to my quick breathless ones.

I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to take me.

I wanted this person.

His dark eyes flicked to the door, and he made a noise of annoyance.

My head snapped to the side at the sound of muffled voices from the other side of the door.

Dread crept up within me, turning my insides cold.

 _Not now. Please not now! Don't ruin this. Not when I finally…_

Kanda lowly chuckled, his hand brushing my thigh and effectively stealing back my attention. "I guess I'll see you later, sprout," he said, straightening back up. And _wow_ he was tall. At least a full head taller than me for sure. "Oh yeah." He pressed something wet into my left hand, gave me one last lascivious smirk, and went back to the washing machine.

 _See me… later?_

A child pushed open the door, a cranky look on his face as he whined to the woman behind him about having to go to the restroom.

Cheeks still warm, my heart running marathons, I glanced down, staring owlishly at the bunched-up ball of lace and string in my hand.

 _He has my room number._

[end]

 _This was inspired by an OTP prompt I saw on Tumblr._


	2. Chapter 2

**Fortuitous Blunders**

Yu Kanda

I only ever came to the Laundromat early in the mornings because it meant doing my washing in peace and quiet, with no chance of being disturbed by the loud people of my apartment complex.

However, today there was someone already here.

It was that kid with the white hair and the weird scar who I was pretty sure lived on the same floor as me. He was upset again, too, slowly removing his clothing from the washing machine and dropping it into a basket, his tired silver eyes downcast.

He was a cute and innocent looking kid most of the time, but not right now. Not when he looked so drained and weary.

I knew he wasn't really a kid though, not when we both attended the same Arts College.

Lavi had caught me staring once, and after doing some research -aka stalking-, he'd told me that the beauty was doing a course in music, with his instrument of choice being the piano.

I'd considered asking him out at one point, but then I realised we'd never even spoken before and I had no real reason to approach him.

Still, I knew more about him than I was willing to admit.

Like how no one -save for teachers- ever approached him, and he in turn never approached anyone. He tended to keep to himself.

I also knew he was gay.

I'd seen him hanging out with a guy at the college, and they'd been exchanging light kisses. This had lasted for a week or so, and the next day, he was sitting quietly by himself with his head down trying to hide his puffy red eyes.

This had happened multiple times.

I'd noticed ages ago that his hands were different colours; one was normal, while the other was dark black.

Was that why he couldn't hold down a relationship?

One of the assholes he'd dated was talking about it once, really fucking loudly while there were a shitload of people in the campus' cafeteria. The dipshit had blown it all out of proportion, making it sound as if the kid's hand were the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and how the white-haired boy was ' _such a faker_ ' for hiding it until then\\.

I didn't get it then, and I still didn't get it now. So what if his arm was weird? Did it really fucking matter? It was _his_ arm; what effect did it have on anyone else?

If that was how people reacted, no wonder the brat was hiding it.

That didn't stop the kid's reputation from dropping even further.

He seemed aware of it all, too, but made no effort to change anything. He didn't even try.

Instead, he let people walk all over him and what remained of his emotions, keeping everything to himself.

He was a pushover, and that pissed me off.

What he needed was a dose of confidence or something.

I wasn't the person for the job, though. Personally, I was better at tearing people down than bringing them up. That kind of stuff was better left to the Usagi and Lena. They were the empathetic types while I was… me.

Pondering this, I stood by the door of the Laundromat with my bag of dirty clothes, and watched him haul his basket onto a counter on the opposite end of the room.

I'd waited 'til now for him to finish because the washing machine he was using was the best of the lot and there was no way I would ever again use any of the others. Two of them created loud banging noises that made them sound like they were possessed, and the other three took forever-and-a-half to wash, even on a quick cycle.

In short, they were crap.

I knelt down in front of the washer, contemplating lodging another complaint against the owners of Laundromat, when my eyes caught sight of something dark within the machine. Perplexed, I reached in and pulled the dark thing out.

It was soft and soaked, and also made of black lace.

I un-bunched it, revealing that it was, in fact, a thong.

Slowly, I turned my head to look at the kid, who was sifting frantically through his pile of wet clothes.

Standing back up, I stared at the thong again.

There was _a lot_ of string.

Interestingly enough, I could imagine him in it. In it, and wearing nothing else.

I let my lips curl up into a smirk.

It seemed I had a reason to approach him after all.

"Is this yours?"

[end]


End file.
